


Spa Drabbles About Wrestling

by SpaMightWrite



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Belts, Bodily Fluids, Breathplay, Collars, Crossdressing Kink, Crying, D/s, Edging, Femdom, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Omorashi, Pegging, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaMightWrite/pseuds/SpaMightWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various drabbles and ficlets too short for their own works entry. Please see each chapter summary for details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman teaches Dean a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For CBD on tumblr - contains spanking, belting, bratty sub Dean.

Roman held him down against the bed, himself fully clothed while his captive lay in nothing more than a ripped tank top, cotton briefs that were pulled down to his knees, and a rebellious smirk. His strong hands gripped Dean's wrists behind his back, as well as the back of his head, somehow able to stroke his hair at the same time.

“Just how many times do I have to teach you this lesson, baby boy?” Roman took a fistful of Dean's hair and pulled ever slightly, just to demonstrate how serious he was.

“Hmmm,” Dean pondered as he drew his tongue wet over his lips. “I dunno. Maaaybe someday soon it'll stick. But I think you gotta get better at punishing me first. I mean... this all ya got, buddy?”

A slap echoed throughout the room, followed closely by a gasp that melted into a chuckle. Dean's buttock was reddening fast, but not quite as quickly as Roman's face.

“All right, not bad,” the blond conceded. “I mean, I actually felt that one.”

He got another one for that, on the same cheek. And his reaction was exactly the same, if not louder.

“Gonna take more than that, Ro! You really think you can shut me up with a little spanking?”

“You're being an even bigger brat than usual today, so... Maybe not.”

“Hm?”

Without letting go of Dean's wrists, Roman reached towards the belt around his waist. He had it folded in his white-knuckled hand in just moments, and without any further warning he snapped it against Dean's thighs.

“Aaah! Aaahh-owww...” Dean whimpered. Yet he still grinned up at Roman, nothing in his eye revealing he'd be yielding any time soon. “Ooh-hoo, that almost really hurt, Roman... I almost sorta kinda felt like givin' it up.”

Roman didn't even speak. He simply held Dean even tighter and laid harder and harder blows against his ass and thighs. Dean's skin became a mess of welts and red lines, while his cries of pain grew louder with each blow. And his eyes began to tear up from the stinging against his skin, soaking into his cheeks and the pillow under his head.

It ended not with another blow, but with a gentle touch of the hand.

“Well, baby boy? Did I convince you?”

“... Fine,” he sniffled. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry...?”

“... Sir.”


	2. Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets another lesson, this time from Seth. And some leather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Raehex. Contains breathplay, fingering, D/s elements.

There was drool on his chin, growing cold and slowly making its way down his neck. His knees and palms were burning, aching, taking on the texture of the carpet underneath them. His lower lip was chapped, near bleeding from how much he'd chewed on it. The pale of his cheeks had all but burned away from heat and shame. His skin was nearly all exposed, but for the spandex briefs currently stretching nearly beyond their limit from the sheer intensity of his arousal.

The collar around his neck had rubbed his skin a little bit raw. That was all right, though. He could handle that. He could stand to moisturize for a few days afterward if it meant he could feel... well.

He felt a boot plant itself against his back, and his muscles had already been exhausted by that point. Dean crumpled in a heap on the floor, his spine giving a quiet pop as Seth pushed him to the floor with his foot.

“Dean.” Seth spoke his name as if it were something filthy, obscene, like it wasn't to be uttered in polite company.

He didn't respond. He didn't feel able. What he did feel was a hand on the back of his head grasping much of his hair and pulling back. The sweet, wonderful sting of that tug made him moan as it spread across his scalp. As his voice faltered, he heard the snarl of leather stretching against Seth's fingers, a mirthless chuckle from his lips. 

“You wanna respond to me when I'm talking to you?”

Dean puffed out an apology out of muscle memory more than anything else. The grip on his hair was loosening, at least... But the collar was biting against his throat again, growing closer and tighter with every passing second.

“Doesn't matter if you're sorry, Dean. You still gotta take what's coming to ya.”

With the boot on his back and the leash pulling at his throat, he was stuck there. His fingers clawed at the carpet, ready to tap whenever needed.

But he didn't need to. Seth was always careful... always precise. Meticulous.

A perfectionist, really.

Less and less fresh air entered his lungs as Seth held the leash fast in his gloved hand. Dean could feel his head floating off into the aether of their odd little bliss, his lungs constricting, his tongue hanging out as if to make room for any small amount of air. His eyes fluttered shut as he drooled even more down his chin, that sick smile spread across his lips.

And then his head dropped to the carpet. The rush of air in his lungs mirrored the rush of adrenaline to his head. He coughed out a laugh and sucked in as much oxygen as he could possibly fit into his chest. His cock throbbed in double time with his breaths, he felt precum dampening the front of his briefs. 

Best of all, he felt the boot let up on his back... and Seth drop to his knees. And a leather glove pressed against his lips.

“Here, bite this,” Seth offered. “If you can't be quiet without chewing up your own lip, I don't know what else to do with you.”

Dean took it into his mouth, grinning, his vision misty, the musk of leather filling his throat.

“Good boy...”

His briefs were pulled down. Seth laid himself flat over Dean's back, his own erection pressing hard against his ass. Dean never figured out when Seth had gotten the lube, but he felt it slick and cold around Seth's finger as it entered him.

It pumped in and out, teasing at his sweet spot, sending that unmistakable electricity through his body and out through his pulsing cock. Meanwhile, Seth rut hard and lovingly against his thigh. He mumbled approval into Dean's ear, responding to every whimper with one of his own, the both of them grunting and whining in near unison.

Neither of them lasted long. Seth went first, Dean could feel him twitch and shudder against him, the one-two-three, four throbs of Seth's member as his cum jetted into his pleather tights. The sensation and the sound of Seth's cry of pleasure sent Dean over the edge. His back arching, his orgasm splashed into the carpet where he collapsed moments later.

“Holy fuck,” Dean groaned after letting the glove fall from his lips. His head throbbed, as if to mimic his dick coming down from its peak.

He received a kiss on the back of the head as the collar was unbuckled. Seth's arms embraced him about the neck, fingers gently stroking the rawness on his skin.

“Such a good boy, Dean,” Seth cooed. “You did so well.”

“Not so bad, yourself.”

He got a pinch on the behind for that one. And another kiss, this time on his neck.


	3. Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's in the maid outfit, but who's serving who here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For risque-delusions! A bit of Maidbrose action, featuring Ambrolleigns, crossdressing kink, oral, anal, and being real, real nice to Dean.

He'd never imagined that stiff, pressed cotton could make him so hard.

But the little gathered skirt honestly barely covered his behind, that task mostly relegated to the white lace pannier underneath. He was sure that his black lace bikini-cut panties were showing, absolutely sure of it. There was considerable bare skin between his fishnet stockings and panties, sensitive to any change in temperature.

Notwithstanding that he wasn't afforded the benefit of a shirt. The only cover he had on his torso was the top of his apron, frilled and perfectly white, which did nothing to conceal the hardness in his nipples and the goose prickles all over his arms and shoulders.

Dean had been at work for quite a while. And now, having finished washing every single dish in the sink, he'd finally begun drying them with a light blue dish towel. His hands had just then begun the process of de-shriveling, which he noticed with a sigh and a humorless laugh. 

“I swear,” he muttered to the sink, “they only do this with me just so I'll actually do some fuckin' chores.”

A hand reaching under his skirt and stroking his backside sent a jolt of surprise through him. Once he'd landed from jumping about three feet in the air, Dean shook his head and looked over his shoulder.

“Actually, we do this because you look so pretty in this outfit.” Roman wasn't so bad himself that afternoon – a pair of jeans and a soft, loose tank top. No shoes or socks. Hair down, dark and wavy, framing his strong face and shoulders.

Dean wanted to smile, and started to. Roman always looked gorgeous, but he was just god damned radiant on his days off when he was well-rested and relaxed. And it helped that his strong hand was squeezing one of his lace-clad cheeks, sending little waves of pleasure lapping against his crotch.

But he had a job to do, he had a role in all of this, and it wasn't to stand around and admire his boyfriends.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said softly, quietly. And he blushed from his cheeks all the way down to his neck when he realized it; Roman didn't just compliment him, he replied, which means he heard that little comment he'd made before.

Roman seemed to notice that this little epiphany was dawning on his maid. Yet he didn't seem in the mood to punish. Unless his hands exploring the underside of Dean's skirt was some sort of bizarre discipline. A foot inserted itself between his ankles, and proceeded to gently spread his legs apart.

Dean set down the plate and towel onto the counter, letting himself grow hard as Roman's fingers caressed him at the inner thighs, the bottom edge of his buttocks, the waistband of his panties. But it wasn't a moment later that Roman's hands dropped away.

“Dean, don't you have a job to finish up?”

He supposed he did... though it might be a little difficult to focus that way. Dean picked up his task once more, and Roman put his hands back to work, too. The blond made a considerable effort to keep at it, but he couldn't help but let out a shivering sigh as his dick twitched under Roman's palm.

“Keep going, baby. Don't mind me.” Roman's deep, soothing voice warmed against Dean's ear, to the point that he didn't hear someone else approaching until he spoke up, too.

“What, you were gonna start already?” Seth had on little else than a pair of jeans slung low on his waist, revealing the dents on his hips and the spandex waist of his boxer briefs. He was grinning, his head cocked to the side, his feet padding him towards the sink. “Dishes aren't even done yet, Ro. You sure he deserves his reward just yet?”

“He's done such a good job today, Seth.” Roman slid himself around to face his maid, dropping to his knees and gazing up in admiration. His hands stroked Dean's bare thighs and lingered at the tops of his stockings. “And he's almost done... I think we can make an exception just this once. I mean, just look at him. Isn't he so gorgeous?”

“Well... I guess you have a point.” Seth edged himself against Dean, his body fitting perfectly in the groove of his back. The skirt was flipped up, exposing any bare skin to the open air – and Seth's hands. “Yeah, you know... you're right. I don't think I could keep my hands off him if I tried.”

Dean's eyes relaxed shut as both of his boyfriends groped at him, stroked him lovingly, made him remember just how dearly he belonged to them. He tried to pick up his work once more, but all he could manage was fumbling with the dish towel, wringing it in his hands as Roman reached even further up under his skirt.

A choked sort of whimper emanated from deep in his throat as Roman pulled his panties down, leaving them to rest just above his knees.

“Sshhh,” he heard from behind. Seth had let go of him momentarily to work at the fastenings of his jeans. “It's okay, babe, just relax.”

Easy for him to say. He didn't have Roman fucking Reigns' immaculate face just inches from his throbbing cock. And growing closer with every passing second, smiling up at him. He pressed one hand onto Dean's thigh and the other was sneaking into his own pants.

It almost seemed slow motion, Roman's lips parting and finally making contact in an open-mouthed kiss. Without even holding Dean's cock steady with a hand, Roman ran his tongue along his entire length and then took the head into his mouth. Meanwhile, the tip of Seth's member was all of a sudden gently pushing inside of him, wet with lube and hot with his want.

Dean felt like he could come apart at the seams at any moment. Roman worked more and more of Dean's length into his mouth, his silky tongue stroking constantly. Seth was fully immersed in him just moments after his entrance, filling him up so perfectly, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Hearing little moaned chuckles behind him, feeling the grunts and happy sighs around his cock, sensing the energy ramping up within all of them, it was too much.

He had no idea just how long he lasted. Not long, certainly. However much time it did take, it felt unbelievable. 

His whole body shuddered, as did his breath, as he tapped quickly on the top of Roman's head in warning. Roman sucked him down even deeper, moaning even louder, his tongue pressing even harder against the pulsing muscle. With a strangled gasp, Dean loosed himself down Roman's throat.

That sent both of the others over the edge. Seth thrust just once more into Dean, his fingernails digging into his maid's hips, a sigh of relief and pleasure falling out of his mouth. Roman, hearing this, finally pulled himself to completion, leaving a sizable wet patch on the front of his boxers.

While Dean collapsed on the floor, his panties still at his knees, a little bit of saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth, Roman and Seth put themselves away and stood up straight.

“Hey,” Seth laughed. “Wasn't he supposed to be serving us today?”

“That's right, Seth.” Roman patted the back of Dean's head, gently ruffling his curls. “Dean, get yourself together and make us some coffee, would ya?”

Dean rested his head against the counter and grinned. “With pleasure, Sir.”


	4. Nerve Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's got sensitive nipples, and Tyler kind of has a thing for teasing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another for the kink meme! Anon required some nipple play between Jimmy and Tyler, and also requested some crying.

_“Tyler...” came the gasping little whine from the pit of Jimmy's throat. “G-god, I can't take it, I can't--”_

_“Oh, no?” The smirk was audible in his question. “Then maybe you shouldn't moan like such a little whore, Jimmy.”_

~

Tyler often had trouble keeping his eyes off of Jimmy's chest, and especially his nipples. They were always on display, whether in the ring or at home. Even when he wore a tank top or a thin t-shirt, Tyler could see them through the fabric on a chilly day. Hell, they were ornamented – a pair of little silver rods with a ball on each end through the both of them. As such, he had even more trouble keeping his hands off of them.

It was no different even in public. In the locker room or backstage area at Ring of Honor shows, Tyler had made a habit of sneaking up behind his boyfriend and seizing his nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. As amusing as Tyler and any onlookers found Jimmy's yelping, the real fun only occurred in the bedroom.

And/or in a parked car late after a show, in the bathroom of a dive bar, and once on Bryan Danielson's kitchen table.

Jimmy, in turn, had trouble containing himself whenever Tyler touched him there – in basically every way.

His nipples were some of the most sensitive points on his body, hardening easily under a fingertip or tongue, sending a feeling like no other through his entire being. He couldn't help but moan and squirm whenever Tyler decided to tease him. And for that reason, Tyler knew just exactly how to rile him up the point of madness.

He'd take advantage of that whenever he could.

Jimmy sprawled out on his back against the bed in nothing more than a skimpy pair of briefs, pretty brown eyes smiling up at Tyler. He'd barely been touched yet, but his nipples were already stimulated, light copper little nubs adorned with the usual stud piercings. Tyler crawled from the edge of the bed and over Jimmy, staring down at him with a smirk of ill intent on his lips.

“Look at you,” Tyler growled as he ran his index finger down the middle of Jimmy's chest. “You're already hard in more than one way.”

His hand trailed towards his right nipple, where his middle finger lightly touched down and teased the end of it in a little circle. He watched as Jimmy shifted beneath him, his stomach tightening and chest filling up with a sigh. 

“Oh, you are so easy to turn on, Jimmy...”

With that, he reached up with the other hand and took his left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Jimmy started whining just with that small touch. His back arched slightly, pushing himself even further into Tyler's fingers.

“Fuck,” Jimmy moaned, now rock hard down below as well. “Stop teasing, Tyler, come on...”

“What? You mean stop doing... this?” Tyler released the nubs and placed one forefinger on the side of one of his piercings. He gently flicked the metal stud, sending electricity straight to Jimmy's groin.

His whole body gave a twitch. His tongue wedged itself between his teeth. And he couldn't stop moaning as Tyler kept teasing the stud. Tyler wasn't even technically touching him, and _fuck_ , he was already going crazy. His thighs squirmed together, as if it could relieve just some of the tension all wound up in his lower body.

It did very little.

“Tyler,” he whimpered.

“Whaaat?” Tyler asked in mock sympathy. “I can't just ignore them, you put such pretty jewelry in them... It's like you're just begging me to pull on 'em.”

“Fuck, fuck, Tyler--”

Too late. He had it in his mind, and he had to make good on it. He took a piercing in each hand and gently tugged them up, stretching them, pulling a loud gasp out of Jimmy's panting lungs.

“ _Fuck_.” His whole body arched then, his groin futilely reaching for any contact. The entirety of his being was aching with pleasure from his boyfriend's teasing. He really didn't think it could get any worse until Tyler let go of one of his piercings...

And lowered his head to tease Jimmy's nipple with his tongue.

He no longer had any words for the feelings pounding through his nerve endings. Just vague and obscene little whimpers and gasps and cries. His eyes clamped shut and started overflowing with tears, causing his eyeliner to run down his cheeks with stinging heat.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Tyler chuckled in the brief moment he looked up. “You're _crying_? It feels that good?”

“Nngh!!” That was really all he could respond with as Tyler went back down and started lapping at him again. 

And, as if his tongue wasn't enough, Tyler took the nub between his teeth and pulled.

It was over then.

With a stuttering breath and a series of spasms shooting through his body, Jimmy's hips bucked upward as his cock throbbed with orgasm. Upon the first pulse, a small damp spot appeared on his briefs. The second and third soaked through the fabric and landed on his taut stomach. And pleasure continued to buzz through him as Tyler refused to let up on his teasing.

Jimmy gasped Tyler's name over and over, his eyes still streaming, tears running across his temples and soaking into his hair. 

Finally, _finally_ , as Jimmy's whimpers grew into sobs, Tyler freed him from his grasp and let him collapse back on the bed.

“You okay?” Tyler reached up and gently wiped away some of Jimmy's tears.

Jimmy opened his misty eyes and smiled. “Fuck yeah. More than.”


	5. Golden Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth learns a valuable lesson about moderation. In drinking Kill Cliffs and in making Brock Lesnar angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seth omo for the kink meme, because it was honestly warranted with how he looked last Monday on Raw.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK._

Seth bolted backstage the moment he was out of sight of the cameras and audience. And... _him_. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest and get crushed underneath his boots as he darted around techs and equipment crates. He felt himself sweating right through his shirt, his championship belt bouncing painfully around his hips.

He could be sure he was faster than Brock Lesnar on a good night. The beast had him beat in nearly every other physical category, but at the very least he had the upper hand in that way. And in brains, though he'd never admit that to his face.

Seth swung around a corner and found himself utterly alone, the silence somewhat eerie. He'd navigated enough of the maze that was the backstage area that he felt relatively safe. He sat down on a rolling crate and put his head in his hands.

God damn, was he lucky he got out of the ring when he did. Brock was no one to fuck with, and dear lord had Seth fucked with him at Wrestlemania. As smart as he normally was, he supposed he didn't have much of a backup plan for whenever Brock came back from suspension. That was rather stupid of him.

Even stupider than chugging so many Kill Cliffs during the show.

He really didn't expect to have any more action that night, certainly didn't expect that motherfucker to show up. And at the behest of his bosses who supposedly loved him as their golden boy, the future of the company, their goddamn champion! Unbelievable.

So it seemed all right to have a few extra energy drinks. To reward himself for a job well done at being the greatest champion of all time. They don't count as extra calories if he burned them off being hyper as all get out.

And then _he_ had to show up.

Seth thanked his lucky stars at that moment that Brock hadn't made any sudden moves towards him. Otherwise... he might have lost it right there in the ring, in front of a million people on live TV.

His face burned at even the thought of it. He'd have been ruined, absolutely ruined, for the rest of his life. They'd probably take his championship away from pure embarrassment. 

But he hadn't. He was fine.

Well. He was alone, at least.

He carefully stood up from where he was sitting and glanced down each end of the hallway. There was a pressing problem that would need taking care of rather soon, and it wasn't just Brock coming after his championship. Seth was going to have to find a bathroom, and fast. Or a quiet corner and an empty bottle, worst case scenario.

Maybe not _worst_ case.

Seth hadn't walked two steps from where he stood before who should stomp down the hallway but the person he least wanted to see at the moment. Not Dean Ambrose or Roman Reigns. Not even Kane. 

The Beast Incarnate. The worst case scenario.

As Paul Heyman would bellow, _Brrrock Llllesnar._

And that motherfucker was smiling. Smirking as he spotted him down the hallway. Shirtless, hulking, footsteps sounding more like earthquake tremors.

Seth urged his feet to move, but he was frozen in place. He convinced himself for a moment that he was standing still in resolute determination, that he stood firm in the face of someone who planned on ripping him apart in less than a month.

And he was absolutely sure of that until Brock landed two inches from his face and backed him against the wall. 

Fuck. 

His bladder was already full to bursting and throbbing in his lower stomach, and the pounding beat of his blood slamming through his body wasn't helping at all. But he steadied his breathing as best he could and swallowed hard. 

Brock wasn't as smart as Seth, which he thought was fairly obvious. But he wasn't completely stupid. He was already on thin ice from his suspension, and he definitely wanted to keep his job and get his title back more than he wanted to murder Seth immediately. 

At least he hoped so.

“Can I... help you, Brock?” Seth asked, sounding far snarkier than he meant to. That was just what his voice sounded like, honestly, but he could have turned it down if he was able to focus on anything besides pissing himself. 

The hulking monstrosity of a man stepped even closer, leaving Seth nearly painted against the wall behind him, so close that Seth could feel Brock's breath on his forehead.

“Let's see,” he growled, that unnerving grin still on his reddened, sweaty face. “You could do the smart thing and drop that title right now. I wouldn't mind takin' it the easy way for once.” He glanced down at the belt and back up at Seth, making him even more aware of the urge he was suppressing down there.

“I uh, I don't think that's how it has to work,” Seth stammered, his eyes firmly set on Brock's collarbone. “I think Hunter and Steph would prefer a title change happen during a broadcast, at least. Just handing it over behind closed doors, not best for business, right?” He forced out a chuckle. 

Which may have been a mistake.

An earsplitting bang slammed into his right ear, and his entire body seemed to suddenly go out of alignment for a moment. His head snapped to his right as his limbs went numb in shock. Seth found a fist buried into a dent in the drywall just an inch from his nose.

“Neither is a champ with a caved-in face,” Brock pointed out, casually checking his knuckles and finding them clean but for a bit of dust.

There was no hiding it now. Seth was frightened to the point of his legs shaking beneath him, warming from the friction against his pleather tights.

And then he heard the hiss from down below. 

Oh.

Not from shaking, it would seem. It took him a moment to realize it, but his whole lower body had gone weak, his legs barely holding him up as they grew warmer and wetter with each passing second. Never before had such relief accompanied such intense panic.

His bladder was letting loose down his legs, soaking his crotch and the inside of his pants. Due to the nature of the fabric, nothing dripped from his groin or thighs. His shame rushed down both legs of his pants and ran out around his boots, forming a quickly-growing puddle between his feet.

And it took Brock just a moment after to understand what was happening. The blush forming on Seth's face only proved it for him. He looked down at the puddle spreading beneath Seth's feet and chuckled maniacally at his disgrace.

“Is this really happening?” he snickered down at Seth. “Our champ is pissing himself right in front of me. _Amazing_. I think this is the second-greatest day of my life.”

Seth covered his mouth with one hand, his face fiery red all over, his eyes starting to burn with humiliated tears. His urine still streaming out into his pants, he slid down against the wall and curled his knees against his stomach, as if trying to hide from what he'd done to himself.

Another mistake.

With nowhere else to go, he felt his piss seep out through the waistline of his pants and stream out from underneath his championship belt. His free hand shot down against his crotch, trying in vain to hide the liquid joining the pool he was sitting in.

And finally, the flow ended. Seth tried to move where he sat, and found the inside of his pants absolutely drenched, his legs damp and sticky, the hem of his shirt laying wet against his stomach. He leaned his head back against the wall, swearing under his breath and lamenting the additional moisture flowing from his eyes down his cheeks.

Brock wrinkled his nose down at the pathetic creature below him. “Ugh. You better wash that before our match. Better not smell any piss on it or I'll beat ya extra hard, just for fun.”

Giving him one final patronizing pat on the head, Brock Lesnar stomped happily back down the hall, leaving Seth Rollins, golden boy of the WWE, alone to his shame.


	6. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's very impatient. Roman thinks he could stand a bit of humility before he gets what he wants. Contains edging, begging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kink meme fill! Kinda short but I think it ended up pretty all right.

This happened far more often than Dean ever liked to admit.

Somehow Roman would pin him down and bring him to the very edge of orgasm and then just... stop. Stop stimulating him completely until he felt Dean deserved to come. He had trouble waiting even in everyday life, so this drove him absolutely crazy, and he would generally do just about anything to get Roman to start up again. Usually that involved a fair amount of begging which Dean found humiliating under normal circumstances.

These were not normal circumstances. Not by a long shot.

Roman held his wrists, pinning them to the headboard, while inside him to the very base of his cock. He thrust into him hard and lovingly, but slow enough to make him throb with anticipation. Dean was growling with every grind against his sweet spot, not just from the pleasure but from frustration. He was taking too damn long.

“Come _on_ ,” he snarled from the very pit of his throat. “Ro, give it faster, I can't stand it, come on...”

Roman smirked down at him and, without speaking, followed his command. Dean gasped as Roman started pumping into him with increasing speed and force, feeling the tension build in his cock with every passing moment. He didn't normally make this much noise but this whole thing had been too much for him. He moved his hips in time with Roman, allowing him to hit the deepest spots within his body that made him moan through gritted teeth.

He felt himself beginning to peak, and somehow out of control of himself he made it known.

“Yes, fuck, god damn, so close, so close, aah!” Dean bit his lip in anticipation, smiling all the way through it, closing his eyes to focus.

And then Roman stopped. He went still, the head of his cock just barely inside of Dean.

Dean felt the bottom drop out from his high and opened his eyes to find Roman giving him that look. The look where there was just the ghost of a smile on his lips, barely hiding behind a fake glare. 

God dammit.

Dean squirmed where he was, attempting to get more of Roman's dick inside him, but Roman pulled it away with every attempt.

“Ro, what--?”

“You're a demanding little bastard, aren't you?” Roman tightened his grip on Dean's wriggling forearms and slid in just a little further. “I'm doin' this nice thing for ya, makin' you feel good, and you're giving me orders? I don't think so.”

Dean was panting, his head swimming, his cock twitching and his asshole tightening in panic. “R-Ro, come on, I'm sorry, I just--”

“You just what?” Roman bent down to whisper in his ear, his breath making Dean shiver. “You need this, right?”

“Y-Yeah.” He knew what was coming, but there was no way he could sass him any further. Not when he was already in trouble.

“Then tell me. Tell me how much you need it. Beg me. Otherwise... you ain't comin' tonight.”

“Fuck,” Dean whined, tossing his head back in defeat. “Roman, I need it, I'm so close, come on, please...”

Roman slid back in slowly, filling him up, stopping right at his sweet spot. “What's that? Can't hear you so good. All this hair gets in the way sometimes, yanno?” 

“Roooomaaaan,” he whimpered. “God, I'm gonna die, please just give it to me, please?”

The head of Roman's cock pressed slowly and methodically against his prostate, just barely stimulating him but not building towards his orgasm in any significant way.

“Hm. Not bad. I think you can do better, though.”

“Fuck!!” He was almost shouting by then, his teeth grinding and breath hitching in his throat. His whole body writhed against the headboard, clawing for any further stimulation. “Roman, please, for the love of god, just fuck me, I need you so goddamn bad, I need this, I wanna come. I wanna come for you, I can't do it myself, please, please, I'll do anything if you just let me come!” His eyes were hot, welling up, almost streaming with his need.

“Good boy.”

Roman pulled himself nearly all the way out and then pounded in, repeating the action with increasing strength and speed. Dean felt his entire body, the very essence of himself exploding with pleasure within every cell. It only took another minute of Roman hammering him, chipping away at his self-control, before it ended.

Dean's orgasm streamed out against his stomach, each pump of his cock seeming to lead directly into the next without a single pause. Roman kept thrusting through the whole process, himself groaning happily as he let himself go as well. Dean shuddered and shook, his arms flopping down to the bed as Roman let go of them.

“S'all you had to say, Dean.”


	7. Talk to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Rae and Kris on my RP group who both could use a Jimbrose boost today. This one is very artsy in that it's only dialog, so... enjoy?

“Hey, sweetie... you okay?”

“M'fine.”

“Far be it from me to call you a liar, but I really don't think you are. You argued with Roman last night and you've been pouting on the bed all day.”

“Yeah? Still fine. Whatever. Don't you have better shit to do?”

“Probably.”

“Hah. Yeah, thanks, good to hear it...”

“Would a shoulder rub help at all?”

“Don't need help, told you, I'm fine... … Mm. Little to the left.”

“Yeah that's what I thought... You probably don't wanna talk about it.”

“I think I've said enough by now, yeah.”

“Then don't say anything, I'll take care of you, okay?”

“Don't need takin' care of. Just lettin' you do this 'cuz I'm sore.”

“Yeah, you sure are... Get that shirt off.”

“You just wanna see me shirtless. I know your fuckin' game, princess, don't try to sneak anything by me.”

“He says, removing his shirt immediately...”

“I ain't stupid, Jim. Not gonna pass up pounding your ass just 'cuz I'm pissed off at everything.”

“So you admit you're not fine?”

“...”

“What--? WHOA. Oh, okay, all right, I guess I'm down here now—mph. Mm. Well... I know what's gonna get you feeling better...”

“I told you I'm fine... Mm. You taste good, though...”

“Really? And I don't even have any lip gloss on... You really do love me, don't you?”

“What, you don't believe me when I fuckin' tell you that? Fine, fine. I see how it is. 'll just have to show ya, right?”

“Oh that isn't what I meant-- nnngghhh but I really can't argue with this, either... Ohh my god, you don't ever waste time, do you?”

“I hate waiting.”

“You certainly do-- Wait, wait, hold on, let me...”

“...”

“... What? You're staring.”

“Nothin'. You look good. Like that. You know.”

“Naked? Underneath you? At your complete mercy?”

“Yeah, all o' that... And with your hair all messed up and your mouth hanging open, panting like a whore.”

“Oh, you really know how to make a girl feel pretty. Ohhh god, holy fuck, what even are you doing down there?”

“Getting you ready. Even a little cock slut like you needs stretching, right?”

“Such a gentleman... Oh fuck, how many... how many is that?”

“Three. I think you're ready. Hold on a sec.”

“Fuck, you wind me up so fast... Don't be long, okay?”

“Yeah, too late.”

“Oh, ha-ha...”

“Ain't gonna be laughing when I'm done with ya... All right, I hope you're ready.”

“You're gonna go in anyway, aren't you? Ohhh, yup, you are... Aahh... Fuck. Fuck.”

“Mmm... You're tight, I like that... Better keep it that way for me.”

“Nngh, you think I can do anything else? Aah!! Aahh, ow, ow, owww... nngh...”

“Whoa. You all right?”

“Nngh...”

“Want me to stop?”

“Fuck no, faster, please, I need you...”

“Haha... That's what I like to hear. All right, you asked for it...”

“Owww, ow, nngh... nnnhh... hahhh... yes, yes, perfect, god...”

“Yeah, ahh, that's so fucking good, you're so fucking good, so good...”

“Fuck, fuck, Jon, I can't take it, I can't, I'm not gonna last long.”

“Like I give a fuck, cum if you have to, all over yourself, right? Like the goddamn insatiable whore that you are.”

“Fuck, aah!! Ohh, oh, mmmn...! Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, Jon, Jon, I fucking... I love you so much, Jon.”

“Fuck, mmm... I... love you, too... Chris...”

“...”

“Fuck, FUCK. AAH, aah...! Hahh...”

“... Hah... hahaha.”

“Whew... ah... the fuck're you laughin' at?”

“Nothing. Nothing... Shower?”

“Yeah. 'M I gonna have to carry you or are your legs still working?”

“You know what my answer is.”

“All right, I gotcha... I'll get the water on and come back to get you.”

“You're the best.”

“Yeah... Y--... I am.”

“Hah...”


	8. Relax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuckin' wrote this for my own amusement, let's be real here. Mox decides to be gross and piss his pants for basically no reason WHOO YEAH

Jon Moxley was a man of action, for the most part. Working himself to the bone was simply his way of doing things. The constant ache of his muscles just made him feel like he was always accomplishing something. He didn't take anything lying down, never let anything go that bothered him to any extent, would get itchy rather soon if he had too much downtime.

And so, when he did decide to relax, he never did it halfway. 

A six-pack, a plastic lawn chair, a hand-held radio, and the balcony of his apartment was exactly what he needed after a long and arduous weekend of back-to-back shows. He still had a few scabs healing on various parts of his face, a ton of aches and bruises along his limbs, and a stubborn cut on the inside of his cheek that had him spitting blood every few hours.

Five bottles deep into his six-pack, the Eagles twanging from the radio, Jon considered soaking in a hot bath later that evening. The sun was starting to sink behind the horizon by then. Certainly he had a while before he would even consider going to sleep, and he couldn't afford to have his back tied up in knots if he was going to keep working that week. And fuck if he was going to drop the kind of cash to get a proper massage.

Yeah. A bath sounded good to him at the moment. Submerged in nice, warm, relaxing water.

Speaking of...

It was rather sudden, due to the fact that he had quite the buzz going, and he hadn't moved in quite a while. But it was then he noticed the waist of his jeans was quite a bit tighter than before. The moment he stirred from his relaxed position, he discovered why.

Those beers were starting to hit him where it really counted.

The pressure was already immense. Mox quirked an eyebrow and lifted up his shirt, finding his lower stomach slightly distended from how full his bladder was. He let out a breath and let his shirt fall again. He'd gotten rather comfortable where he was, the lawn chair being slanted enough to allow him to lay back. Plus the drink had gone to his head, making him a little dizzy at even the thought of standing up.

Moving sounded like the worst.

Jon gave it a moment's consideration and then relaxed back in the chair. He could stand to wait a bit longer. Not like he couldn't get up anytime and go inside to the bathroom. But why bother now? He was comfortable, and he deserved to relax.

Plus, he was alone. Nobody else was out on their balcony at the moment. He was going to take a bath later anyway. It wouldn't be so bad if...

He smiled as the thought occurred to him, and snickered to himself. Mox had pissed in some pretty weird places in his time. Regularly, if he had to be honest. He spent enough evenings in bar crawls to have laid claim to a countless number of alleyways and dumpsters in more cities than he cared to remember.

Part of him got off on it. Mainly the fact that he was tossing society's rules right back in its face, being rebellious and dirty and causing any women he was with to react with disgust at his lack of shame, while his friends just laughed and often joined in.

It was sinking more and more into his mind as he sat there and cracked open his sixth beer. He tried to focus on anything else, like what was on the radio or whether or not he'd treat himself to a cigarette. But the pressure was only building, it was only getting darker, and the idea was only sounding better with every passing moment.

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself, his fingers lightly brushing over the bulge below his stomach. This was gonna be weird... His heart jumped at the thought he might actually do it. Something he'd normally consider really embarrassing.

But... he had to admit he was sort of a dirty guy to begin with. It wasn't so out of character, was it?

Fuck it.

Jon laid his head back against the wall, trying to relax as much as possible. It wasn't difficult, as he found out. Being so full and somewhat drunk and already rather loose. He was surprised at how easy it was to let go.

His crotch grew warm and wet immediately as he heard a hiss from within his jeans. It barely took a moment before he heard splattering on the concrete below the chair, and felt his ass get soaked within seconds. The stream splashed hard against the denim and ran down his left leg. He watched with a vague interest as the wet spot on his pants grew larger, urine streaming out from the hem and puddling beneath him.

Mox let out a deep sigh and chuckled quietly. It felt good – really good. To let go of himself like this, to toss caution and shame to the wind and let pure instinct take over. It was so warm and comfortable, the waistband feeling looser with every drop of liquid leaving him.

He adjusted himself, his hand getting wet as a result, allowing his cock to spray his other leg in turn. The wet patch barely registered above the knee, for it streamed straight against his right thigh, running down to pool beneath his heel.

He was thoroughly soaked by the time his stream tapered off, still dripping heavily into the puddle beneath the chair. Relieved, amused, and a little chilly all of a sudden, Jon crossed one leg over the other, contemplating his next move. That bath would only feel even better if he was cold beforehand...

Mox decided he could finish off his last beer before he went inside. Maybe have a cigarette to clear his head. … And he could stand to jack off, too, feeling a little hard as a result of his filthy little dalliance.

The bath could wait.


	9. Scar Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthday smut for a dear RP buddy. Happy birthday!!!!

“What's that? I couldn't hear you. You're gonna have to speak up, princess.”

Scarlett was wearing something that nearly made Adam swallow his own tongue the first time he laid eyes on it. It was black and covered in lace and straining against her curves, cut just below her breasts, leaving them bare and radiant in the dim light shining through the curtains. Other than a pair of high-heeled latex boots and a wicked grin, that was all she wore.

Adam's mouth was dry as he tried to say it louder, as ordered by his ruler, his better.

“P-Please.”

“Please... what?” her voice teased. She lightly dragged the edge of the riding crop against Adam's spine, raising goosebumps over his entire body.

He bit his lower lip and buried his forehead into the pillow. He'd been throbbing hard since Scarlett threw him onto the bed, and now that he'd been stripped of all of his clothes and pushed down onto his hands and knees, it was becoming downright painful. Just looking at Scarlett fully clothed, smiling at him, could set him off. And now that he was at her mercy, he could barely stay still. He could barely think, let alone form a coherent sentence. And thus his next answer wasn't quite what Scarlett wanted to hear.

“Fuck me?”

The riding crop snapped across both cheeks, making him gasp and whine, leaving a white line that quickly reddened. Scarlett left it there to rest against the stinging line as she chuckled down at Adam.

“Adam, you know better than that... What did I tell you about manners? You remember, don't you?”

“Yes, Scar...” Adam let out a shuddering breath and swallowed as he lifted his head. “I'm sorry.”

“You will be.” Scarlett took hold of the back of Adam's neck and pushed his face down again. She didn't give any further warning – he knew it was coming, of course. There was always going to be a bit of punishment before he was rewarded.

It's how they both liked it.

“Stay just like this. Don't you dare move.” She placed her boot against the back of his neck, pushing down lightly, drawing a groan from him. His knees wobbled as she added more weight, but he stayed in that position as the tip of the riding crop rested against his ass.

It was for aim, not for warning.

It whipped against his right cheek, quick and hard. Then his left. Welts were already forming, red and hot and stinging. Adam bit his tongue, letting out only the smallest hint of a whimper in spite of the pain. He was unable to keep that up, however – with the third strike against his skin, he gasped and clung to the pillow with both hands. The fourth one drew tears from his eyes. The fifth or sixth or maybe the ninth was probably the hardest, and it was difficult to even determine how many he'd gotten at that point because he was moaning so loudly he could barely hear the sound of the crop hitting him.

Eventually Scarlett's boot lifted from his neck, and his lungs emptied with a light sob. His skin was burning, throbbing with pain, and his cock was dripping with precum even though it hadn't even been touched yet. The tears falling down his cheeks were nearly as hot as his welts by then.

“Are you ready to beg me properly this time?”

Adam sucked in a breath and nodded. It would have been better if he could speak, but he really needed a moment to gather himself. Scarlett seemed to understand, because she waited patiently for him to speak.

“Please, Scar. Please fuck me.”

“How? How should I fuck you, Adam?” She already knew the answer to this one. She was already picking up the harness and putting her legs through the loops.

“Fuck...” Adam swallowed again and put a hand over his mouth. He didn't think his face could get any more red, but he felt it burning up all the same. But he had to say it, he was going to go crazy if it didn't happen soon. His hand dropped and he moaned, “My ass. Please. Please fuck me, please lemme have your dick, please, Scar--”

“What a good boy,” Scarlett interrupted, barely giving Adam any time to prepare before placing the head of her strap-on cock against his hole. It was good that he took a few moments to ask properly – it gave her enough time to make sure the toy was secured properly and then slick it with lube. He'd waited long enough by then, she conceded. And he was asking so nicely.

She slowly and steadily entered him, filling him up entirely and coming to rest with the tip pressed firmly against the sweet spot inside him.

It was already too much for him, and yet Scarlett couldn't help but reach forward and take a handful of his hair, pulling back gradually harder as she started thrusting into him. Adam took his knuckle into his mouth and yet still moaned loud enough to make Scarlett start chuckling.

The pressure was building so quickly that Adam didn't even have time to think about holding back. And it didn't help when Scarlett pulled his hair even harder than before, almost using it to draw herself forward with every thrust. Adam gasped and cried out, the pain and pleasure melding all into one and forcing his eyes to stream nonstop down his cheeks.

“You wanna come for me? Huh? I can tell the way you're moaning like a fucking whore. It sounds so pretty, you know that? Come. Come for me, right now.”

It would have happened regardless of her command.

Scarlett rode him all the way through his orgasm, which flew from him gasping and moaning and practically sobbing. He spilled himself onto the bedsheets and shuddered as she continued pounding him from behind. Even after he was finished she thrust into him just a few more times, because it wasn't over until she decided it was.

Adam's knees trembled as Scarlett pulled out. He was a light breeze away from collapsing onto the bed, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. Not until he was allowed.

“Relax, babe,” Scarlett said, snickering as Adam's legs completely gave out and left him lying face down on the bed. “You want a movie or food first?”

“Cuddles first,” he answered, far too exhausted to even hesitate. “Please.”


End file.
